


Between

by Ashfae



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst and Humor, Drinking, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-31
Updated: 2014-03-31
Packaged: 2018-01-17 17:59:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1397260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ashfae/pseuds/Ashfae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set between the Justice and Questioning Beliefs quests in Act 3. No explicit spoilers, but read at your own risk. Title taken from the song by Vienna Teng, which I very much recommend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Between

It's been a busy few days for Anders, but everything is nearly in place. He's finally been able to arrange a meeting with his contact in the guards--a man, boy really, whose brother was executed two years ago for helping an apostate, he's been spying on the Templars for the resistance ever since--but he still needs to get in touch with another contact, the merchant whose mage lover was made Tranquil last year, that merchant is key if he's going to get some of the supplies he's going to need without attracting unwelcome attention, and--

"Blondie, you look almost as bad as Hawke. When was the last time you went home?"

Anders jumps, and finds Varric looking at him with a mix of curiosity and disapproval. "Varric? What are you doing here?"

"Considering throwing you in the river, frankly. I'd say you smell like you've been sleeping with ghasts, except that from the looks of things you haven't slept in a week." Varric leans his hands on the table. "Anyway, you need to come with me."

Anders waves a hand, already looking back at the paper in his hands. "I'm sorry, but I haven't got time, I need to finish this--"

Varric interrupts. "I wasn't asking, Blondie. How long have you been buried down here? Do you even know what day of the week it is?"

Startled, Anders realizes he doesn't. Time is...hard to grasp, lately, except in that it's running out. He has noticed he doesn't sleep much lately. Justice doesn't have a good understanding of the body's limits, and he's impatient, and if their body is damaged in the process...well. Soon, that won't matter. 

He shakes off the thought. "Look, Varric, I appreciate the concern, but--"

Varric snorts. "It's not concern for you, Blondie. You're beyond that. It's Hawke I'm worried about."

"Hawke?" he repeats, startled. "She should be at home by now. You can--"

"She's not. She's been at the Hanged Man for most of the day knocking them back. Went in around lunchtime with Fenris. She's drunk him under the table, and that takes dedication. I left Isabela to keep an eye on her, and don't ask how much it cost me to bribe Isabela to stay sober enough to do it."

"What?" Anders doesn't understand this at all. "Why?"

Varric rolls his eyes. "You tell me, Blondie. Between bouts of trying to drown herself in the rat-piss that bartender calls beer, she's been swearing up a storm and talking about 'that lying manipulative bastard.' What'd you do?"

Anders scowls. "It wasn't like that."

"I'll bet. Anyway, you're going to come with me to get her."

"What? Why?" He's a real fount of creative responses today.

Varric looks at him as though he's the stupidest person on the planet. "Because you've been shacking up with her for three years and usually worship the ground she walks on? What's _wrong_ with you, Blondie?"

That arrow hits home. Flushing with mixed embarrassment and anger, Anders pushes aside what he was working on - fortunately nothing overtly controversial, mostly maps of the city and scribbled notes and symbols in a cipher that makes sense only to him. His most compromising materials are well hidden at the Hawke estate, though Hawke doesn't know that. "Of course I'll come, that's not what I meant," he says while putting things in a hurried order and closing the clinic, as much as you can close a place where the doors don't really work. "I meant, why do you need my help. Surely between you and Isabela--"

"She'd have be willing to leave first. Right now I think she's planning on just moving into the bar and living under that corner table, the one with the picture of the Arishok buggering a nug carved on the bench. Besides, if she stays there for much longer I'll be broke. She maxed out her tab hours ago, she's going through mine now." He snorts. "Bloody cheap bartender. You'd think he'd stand the Champion of Kirkwall a few beers. Or a few dozen."

Anders is about to protest this mercenary attitude when he realizes that, as so often happens, Varric is lying; this is just his way of trying to get Anders hurry up without stating outright just how worried he is. Which means he must be _really_ worried. Anders moves faster. "Dozen? How much has she _had?_ " 

"If we cut her open and found alcohol in her veins instead of the usual red stuff, I wouldn't be surprised. Let's go before I'm bankrupt."

* * *

It's much later in the night than Anders had thought, and it takes much too long for them to get to Lowtown, even going at a brisk pace that's not quite a run. Running isn't a good idea in Darktown or Lowtown; it attracts unwanted attention. But guilt is spurring Anders' feet as he finally begins to remember pieces of his last conversation with Hawke, the look on her face as he declared that she couldn't love him if she refused to help, and that after he'd lied to her. 

_But one little lie, for such a worthy cause..._

No. Even one lie to Hawke is too much. And it hadn't been a little lie, it'd been something she'd hoped for and thought impossible. She'd been suspicious from the first, he'd known, but she'd wanted to believe him, and he'd used that. He's deceiving her in everything already as it is. He can at least make sure not to lie to her again...can apologize and try to make it up to her, while he still has the chance. 

Even if he's only going to hurt her more in the end. But he brushes that thought aside, because there is nothing he can do about it.

Finally they reach the Hanged Man, Varric slightly in the lead. Anders moves to push past him, but Varric pauses, his hand on the door, and holds up a hand. "One last thing, Blondie. I don't know what's going on, and frankly I don't want to know. And I don't like to get serious; it ruins my image. But if you break Hawke's heart, you're going to have a long list of people lining up to break your head in return, and I'll be heading it. So when you go in there you're going to be nice. Got it? Or else you and Bianca will be having words, and I'll be aiming between your legs."

Anders swallows, hard, not at the threat but at what the it tells him about how hurt and angry Hawke must be. _I was always going to break her heart._ The thought isn't a comfort. "I'm not going to--"

"Shut it, Blondie. After the past few hours, I'm really not in the mood." 

Varric turns back to the door and goes in, and Anders follows, scanning the room.

Hawke isn't hard to spot. She and Isabela and Fenris are at the table in the back corner of the main room, next to a pile of empty mugs that haven't been taken back to the bar yet. That's not what makes them easy to spot, though. What draws the eye at once is the crowd of patrons cheering as Hawke and Isabela arm-wrestle. Normally Hawke would be winning, but she's clearly far-gone with drink, and Isabela is slamming her wrist down to the table with remarkable speed and regularity; after every loss, Hawke takes another drink. She's playing to lose. Fenris, also the worse for wear, winces every time their hands hit the table, and winces more when the crowd cheers. 

Hawke looks up and catches sight of Anders, then scowls and takes a deeper draught from her mug--too deep, and she starts choking. Isabela helpfully leans over the table to thwack her on the back as Varric pushes through the crowd, Anders doing his best to follow in the wake. Varric's first words are to Fenris. "I see you've finished your nap, Broody. Hope you were comfortable down there. Don't look now, but I think you've got a spider in your hair."

The elf glares up at them. No; glares up at Anders. "Why'd you bring him? He's the cause of all this."

Varric shrugs and ignores the question, instead turning to the crowd and clapping his hands. "The Champion thanks you for your kind attention, but alas, all good things must come to an end. Be sure to come back next week for the rematch!"

This earns mixed laughs and boos and catcalls, but the audience gradually moves back to their own seats and areas of the pub, leaving their group in relative solitude. 

"About damn time you got here," Isabela says, still helping Hawke, who's still catching her breath. "What'd you do, stop by the Blooming Rose on the way and sample all the wares?"

Anders moves directly towards Hawke, who is resolutely not looking at him. He sits next to her, equal parts irritation and worry, with a small side of admiration at the truly impressive number of empty mugs on the table. And bench. And floor. "Andraste's flaming knickerweasels," he mutters. "Have you been trying to put them out of business? I'm surprised they have any beer left."

That at least gets a reaction, though not a receptive one. "Go away. Don't want to talk to you."

"She's had help," Isabela points out. "I think she's had half the tavern over here at various points of the day."

"It looks it!"

Hawke glares at Isabela. "Told you, not talking to him. That means you, too." She blinks, confused. "You not talking to him, I mean. You can talk to me."

"I _am_ here to apologize, for what that's worth," Anders points out. Clearly, hiding or denying guilt is not an option here; it's a foregone conclusion. And no more than he deserves, truthfully.

"I think you're going to have to do more than just apologize, magic fingers. Hope you've got some whipped cream and a _lot_ of tongue energy; that's what it'd get me to give you a hearing, anyway." Isabela looks at Varric. "If you're back, am I allowed to drink now?...finally!" Isabela steals Hawke's mug and drinks deep. 

"What did she tell you?" Anders asks the table in general, still watching Hawke, who is still not looking at him. Who is, in fact, weaving in place despite being seated.

"Nothing very specific, more's the pity, but she's been ranting enough to make _me_ consider swearing off men forever." Isabela considers. "Well, for a week, maybe." 

"What? Why?"

"Blondie, that's the third time you've said that since I got you. I could've sworn you had a larger vocabulary."

"Shut up, Varric." Anders reaches for Hawke. "Come on, love. We need get you home."

She pushes him away, though she doesn't do a very good job of it. "Get away, you. You _used_ me. Don't even know what for. Makes me feel dirty. In the bad way." She sighs and slumps forward onto the table. "Much less fun than the good way. Was hoping for the good way, but 'Sabela said no."

Anders doesn't know which bit of this to react to first; there's so many hurtful implications in her words that he can't find a place to start. He looks over at Isabela. "No?" he asks incredulously, torn between...Maker, he doesn't even know, there are so many emotions chasing through him. 

Isabela glowers back at him. He can't tell if her annoyance is at the implication that she will sleep with anyone, anytime, anyplace, or just that she too wants his head for making Hawke unhappy. "I don't take advantage of friends when they're drunk."

"Yes, you do," Fenris says mildly.

"That wasn't taking advantage! I even let you be on top!"

Anders is still trying to get an arm around Hawke's waist in the perhaps vain hope that he can escort her out of here; she fights his grip, and occasionally lands a fist on his chest or jaw, not hard but enough to sting. "Stop that," he snaps, annoyed.

"No," she says, wrenching herself out of his grasp again. "Should hit you, after those things you said. Should gut you. Should...should _castrate_ you." 

"Already made that offer," Varric grunts.

"I don't know, seems a waste of a good prick," Isabela disagrees. "Though from the sound of things he's not going to get to use it for a while."

Fenris smirks. "He won't miss it, then."

"Can everyone stop threatening my cock, please?" Anders asks, finally managing to get Hawke's arm over his shoulders, which means she doesn't have as much leverage. "Varric, thank you for getting me. I think I can handle it from here."

Hawke tosses another feeble punch to his stomach, but it's half-hearted, no real strength in it. "Bastard," she says, then leans her head against his chest, hugging him. "Hate you." But her arms tighten around him, and Anders' heart lightens a bit and he kisses her forehead.

"I know, love, I'm worthless scum and I treated you abominably. You can tell me all about it on the way home, all right? And call me all the names you want, I deserve all of them."

"The man finally admits it!" Fenris picks up Hawke's abandoned mug and raises it in mock salute. 

Anders ignores this. "Just come back with me? Please?" 

She does.

* * *

It's a long, largely incoherent walk back to Hightown. They stop twice, once because her head is spinning and she needs to sit down for a few minutes with her head between her legs, and the second time so she can vomit in someone's shrubbery. Anders waits patiently both times, then keeps them moving, supporting as much of her weight as he can without outright carrying her. At least the local gangs are quiet tonight. Mounting a defense in these conditions would be problematic. 

But they make it back to the Estate without incident. Even Bodahn is asleep as they make their way slowly up the stairs; Hawke trips halfway up and curses. "You've definitely been spending too much time with Isabela," Anders murmurs, impressed by some of the language she uses. 

"So?" Hawke puffs for air, finding the stairs hard going in her inebriated state. "'Least she's not...doesn't...s'not a lying bastard son of a bitch..."

Anders is actually darkly amused by her insults by this point, she's been repeating them ever since they left the Hanged Man. "In the morning. We'll talk about all of it in the morning, I promise." He winces, knowing this is another half-truth. Only took him a few hours to break that promise to himself. 

"Need to tell you...tell you what a prick you are..."

Anders opens the bedroom door. "What you need is to rehydrate, and then sleep. Come to bed, love--"

Hawke swats at his hand. "Don't call me that. You don't. Nothing left but the cause of mages, you said. So no room for me in there. No room for you, either. Anders..." She puts a hand up to his face, and the sudden yearning, sorrowful expression on her face wrings his heart. "Where are you?"

The words stab him, but the look in her eyes is worse. Anders bows his head briefly, pressing her hand against his face with his own, then reaches for her cheek, echoing the caress. "Go to sleep, Hawke." His hand glows. Her eyes close; he catches her weight as she slumps forward, picks her up and carries her to the bed, then stretches himself next to her. "I do love you," he whispers to her sleeping form. He brushes the hair away from her face. She doesn't stir; the spell he used is a good one, and will ensure she rests as much as she needs to. He's used spells for sleep in healing before, to ease patients' pain. He's never used it for treating heartache. 

He suspects it won't be very effective.

**Author's Note:**

> Author's note: This is an old, rather rushed oneshot I started right after my first playthrough of the Justice quest; I was _not happy_ about the emotional blackmail bullshit Anders pulls in that. Sorry about the erratic pacing, I was pissed off and in a hurry. Thanks as always to A for betareading; without her I'd be a much more sloppy writer.


End file.
